by Nick Soulsby
RICK RIZZO: They didn’t seem inexperienced—they were definitely pretty sloppy … I remember being impressed by their energy and noticed that the crowd was definitely into them … They smashed stuff up pretty good at the end of their set. I had a tendency in those days to wreck things up and knock things down a bit. When we took the stage I remember the first thing I said was, “I guess we won’t be smashing things up tonight—Nirvana already did a pretty good job of that.” It was a tough act to follow—I mean, how do you go on after that? They had blown the roof off. We did play a fun and energetic set, but damn … A couple weeks later, I noticed that I had the wrong notebook at home—I used to write in a spiral notebook—song lyrics, set lists, and such, and had it with me at shows. Instead, I had a similar notebook that wasn’t mine. I always assumed it belonged to Kurt, but I have no proof. It’s not like it said “property of…” on the inside flap. The only thing that I remember about it was that it had lyrics and drawings—one called “Fish Eye Man” sticks in my memory. Since it was a few weeks past the show, and the fact that the band wasn’t the band of lore they are now, I stuck it with other stuff in the basement. Not long after that a flood wiped out all of my memorabilia and posters that I had saved—pages with bleeding ink and disintegrating paper.
Nirvana would later criticize the relatively one-dimensional sound of Bleach. They were increasingly proud to acknowledge the diversity of their tastes, even if it didn’t necessarily show when live.
DOUG GILLARD: I said, “Oh yeah, cool. You guys are from Seattle and Sub Pop, right?” Krist: “Yeah, but we’re not like those other bands. We’re more like the Beatles. Into more melodic stuff.” I said, “Wow, that’s great actually” or something like that … it was pretty trashy, but exciting and full of energy. I didn’t hear the Beatles that much in their sound that night, but their records all reflect that though.
LINDSEY THRASHER: Whenever I’d hear “About a Girl,” I’d have to ask who it was. I never remembered. I think that was the only song that stood out from Bleach for me back then.
CRISPIN WOOD: Bearing in mind that I wasn’t familiar with any of their material at the time, I do remember thinking, This sounds kind of Beatle-y, about one song during their set …
For all the stop-start motion, this was Nirvana’s busiest year so far. Cobain, never a prolific songwriter in the first place, was now facing a new challenge: how to keep writing while on the road.
TRACY MARANDER: I know that he did quite a bit of writing while I was at work, and painted/drew quite a bit as well. He would also sit and watch TV and play his guitar, coming up with riffs or tunes (he did this a lot). Sometimes he wrote lyrics then too. Usually mumbled words until he found ones that fit, I guess. He had a lot of notebooks with lyrics or potential lyrics in them.
The relative absence of writing in 1989 is one reason why the tour had limited influence on Cobain’s lyrics. The only visible mention consisted of a single, ultimately deleted, chorus refrain, “Pay to Play,” the original title of Nevermind song “Stay Away.” The referenced practice involved bars selling a batch of tickets to a band to let them on a bill, leaving the band to sell the tickets themselves to make any money. It’s unclear how often Nirvana experienced this; still, it’s the only tour memory that made a sufficient enough impression to be temporarily immortalized.
TOM DARK: The only time I had to do that was with my current band, Dead Federation, at a place here in Cleveland …
COLE PETERSON/RICH CREDO, S.G.M.: Never happened in Seattle. That’s an L.A. thing. A royal pain in the ass or a very rare thing indeed?
DAVID VON OHLERKING: Fitzgerald’s did something like that … I’m completely ignorant about how widespread it was and what it entailed for musicians. It was everywhere, especially Hollywood.
On January 6, Nirvana had never left Washington State. By October 13, they’d hit eighteen states and played more shows than in 1987 and 1988 combined. It may have been the same ol’ van carrying them across the country, but it was a changed bunch of guys riding it home.
8.0
Young Band in New Land: Europe
October to December 1989
Just as Cobain’s writing tailed off after Bleach, Sub Pop’s prolific ending to 1988 resulted in a lull of releases in early 1989; the label was nearly bust. Then they took a long shot by flying out a UK journalist.
BLAG DAHLIA: Sub Pop deserves a lot of credit for hyping the UK rock mags on a largely nonexistent “Seattle Sound” while selling very few records. In the same time frame, punk bands and labels who didn’t believe in paying publicists and manufacturing hype, labels like Epitaph, Victory, and Fat, quietly sold triple the product with a fraction of the media attention. Their turn would come with the ascendancy of Green Day a few years later.
Unlike the United States, where the market is split among numerous local media broadcasters, with few people reading a national newspaper and only a limited number of relatively conservative national music magazines, London exerts a massive degree of control over the British music scene. Hitting the UK made sense.
HENRY SZANKIEWICZ, Medelicious: The UK was definitely looking for something new and found it in the Seattle scene. I’m not sure if they even sold flannel in England back then.
BEAU FREDERICKS: When Mudhoney and Tad started getting big press in the UK, that was when we knew something was brewing. Seattle was getting more press in the US, but not more so than the other big US cities. The UK hype machine really sped things up and made us realize that our scene might be special.
JON GINOLI, Pansy Division: I was convinced that Sub Pop was built on the kind of hype that the British specialize in—they overrate something new into the best thing ever, and six to nine months later they’re old news and supplanted by something else.
Sub Pop exploited the UK media’s tendency to speak to itself, then believe that the volume of its talking heads indicated significance.
COLIN BURNS: It’s hard to remember the exact source of my irritation with Sub Pop and Seattle at the time. Their ubiquity in the press. Probably a sense that we (our band and our friends’ bands) were being overlooked in Boston. So, jealousy maybe. I wasn’t a huge “regional pride” guy … But I was a firm believer in paying dues … The consistency of photography and design made it seem at once unified, but also suspect. Too slick, maybe …
All Sub Pop had to do was get bands over there to unleash the pent-up curiosity. Ambitiously, Nirvana’s Blew EP on Tupelo plus Tad and Mudhoney releases on Germany’s Glitterhouse were all to hit in October, coinciding with the tour. Unfortunately for Nirvana, their release was cut back to UK-only, then delayed. This emphasized that Nirvana was still the junior band on this Sub Pop tour.
MIKE HARD: Tad, Melvins, and Mudhoney seemed to be actually more popular with the press at this time.
CRAIG CRAWFORD: Nirvana wasn’t the largest of the Seattle acts. The biggest draws in Omaha would have been bands like Soundgarden, Mudhoney, or Tad.
MURDO MACLEOD, The Cateran: Tad were the best band on the tour. They were consistently brilliant, Nirvana less so … Tad were the band that everyone thought might get to be really successful—I’m to this day baffled about why they didn’t … Russell Warby was managing the Cateran, and we sent him a copy of “Love Buzz.” He loved it and organized the tour, with our then-agent, Paul Bolton.
CAM FRASER, The Cateran: We’d just recently signed to booking agent Russell Warby … I’d sent him an early copy of “Love Buzz” and suggested they’d be a cool band for us to tour with. He agreed, contacted Sub Pop, and got things going … I can’t remember when I got the first copy [of the “Love Buzz” single] through from Calvin at K Records, but I think I ordered twenty-five copies. I recall I sent quite a few of them out as promo copies … we felt we were playing in a vacuum here. Especially up in Scotland, where twee garage was the most popular, with bands like the Pastels and the Shop Assistants dominating. That said, there was an underground Oi/anarcho punk thing going on in Scotland, but we were
too melodic and not angry enough to be part of that, either … There was a bit of a grouping around bands like the Mega City Four and the Senseless Things, but before Nirvana broke there was really very little interest in what we were playing … it was going so much better for us in Europe that it always felt a bit depressing to be doing the notorious “toilet tour” of the UK.
It says a lot that Sub Pop ensured two releases in Germany to one in the UK; understandable, given UK magazines were in thrall to the Happy Mondays, the Wonder Stuff—even the Rolling Stones’ Steel Wheels was in NME’s top fifty albums.
JOHN KASTNER, The Doughboys: We had the same booking agency in Europe; we were all booked by Paperclip, so everyone knew each other a little bit. We would see them on tour in Europe … Paperclip really brought that entire generation of music to Europe, where we all had to dig down, and we came back to the Americas a better band. They were one of the most influential things that happened to the entire Seattle scene—bands that had a small thing going on around here, one hundred to one hundred and fifty people, then in Europe built this thing and it crossed the pond again. The club scene in Europe wasn’t so saturated—there was one good American or Canadian band a month, so people would come see us … Anyone from 1988 to 1992 was part of the Paperclip scene.
With seven shows in eight days in the UK, the Nirvana/Tad tour set quite a pace.
MURDO MACLEOD: They were very tired from touring. People rarely consider the work ethic of those bands. They worked hard. Tad and Nirvana traveled in one van, us in another, but we’d spend time traveling with each other to get away from 24/7 close proximity to our band mates, which can get really tiresome on tour no matter how much you love one another … We had maybe three people between the three bands acting as roadies/drivers. We all humped gear, we all helped each other, and then we hung out a bit. There was no star-tripping, no egos—other than what you might expect from guys in rock ’n’ roll bands—no fighting, no bitching, no bullshit … We hung out at the venues and hardly saw daylight, so not much sightseeing … They were excited in a low-key way. There wasn’t much money around. Yes, we had riders—not extravagant, but enough for a dozen garrulous stoners who liked to get a bit drunk and talk shit to one another and boast to each other and show off and joke the way young men do … There was pot around, and maybe a little speed, but it was all reasonably low-key … The crowds were US hardcore punk fans, rockers, stoners, longhair misfits, Bucketful of Brains readers, nerdy obsessives, and a few on-message trendies.
CAM FRASER: Pay was shit. And it usually meant eating crap food and sleeping on floors. I remember that Kurt seemed pretty quiet most of the time, while Krist was much more sociable … Kurt seemed to spend most of the time sleeping—I just assumed he was stoned. I don’t know if that was right, but it seemed fair enough given the circumstances. While touring most of us wished we were stoned … Krist seemed to be loving it, and I think he hung out with us quite a bit, just being funny and engaging. Kurt was already surrounded by various people and, as I said earlier, was a bit more distant at that time … he still had that cool, enigmatic thing going.
KURT DANIELSON: We alternated as headliners: one night Nirvana would headline, the next Tad would. A democratic spirit of cooperative equality informed that tour, and no egos interfered with a shared sense of brotherhood, which made it a very cool time for both bands. At the end of that first European tour, both Tad and Nirvana played Lamefest UK with Mudhoney at the London Astoria, and it was at that gig that we used a coin toss to determine who would play first and who second (at that time, Mudhoney was by far the most popular of the three bands in England, or anywhere else for that matter); Nirvana lost the coin toss, making it so that Tad played second. And even though Tad won fair and square, there seemed to be an aura of resentment about it afterward, though words were never spoken openly about it between the bands … there were no hard feelings between the bands. But the Lamefest UK was the highest-profile gig of the tour, and when Nirvana lost that fateful coin toss, it was as if Kurt and Krist subsequently decided to put an end to any ambivalence or ambiguity about who should headline in the future thereafter. The issue didn’t come up until after we had returned to the States …
MURDO MACLEOD: My favorite memory is of the morning after the Leeds gig. We all shared this scuzzy little flat above the venue. I shared a mattress on the floor with Kurt. I still tell people I’ve slept with Kurt Cobain. Anyway, my memory is of being shaken awake by Tad at about eight a.m., holding a Coke-tin hash pipe to my face and saying, “Wake ’n’ bake, boy. Wake ’n’ bake.” I also remember a lot of stoned giggling when Kai [Davidson] and I were sitting in Nirvana and Tad’s van with Krist, drinking red wine and already shitfaced, just before Tad were to come on. Krist was being funny about the fact that his mum didn’t approve of their T-shirts … They were all good people—polite, caring, open-minded, clever, funny, hardworking, honest, and deeply committed to what they were doing … Tad and band were super-sociable. Tad Doyle is one of the finest human beings I have ever met, and he and they were excellent drinking company … Chad talked a great deal; Krist was funny and interesting, and Kurt was quiet and interesting. One thing I didn’t mention, which maybe I should, is that on that tour Kurt’s “stomach pains/cramps” thing was in evidence. Living in Edinburgh in the ’80s, where heroin was rife, the first thing we all thought about a guy with that kind of complaint—rather harshly—was “junkie.” No one spoke about it, except Chad, who I think was very worried about him, and I have no idea whether he actually was using heroin then. Anyhoo, maybe best not to dwell … I may also have not said that we had a very good time.
KURT DANIELSON: Kurt and I would sometimes share hotel rooms; and when we did, we’d often talk long into the night, sharing stories about the strange characters we’d both known while growing up in our respective small towns. During the long days of sitting in our cramped touring van, bored out of our minds, we used to break the monotony by joking around quite a bit, both of us having a black or irreverent sense of humor. One thing we used to make fun of quite often was junkies, which was quite ironic when you consider what would subsequently happen to both of us. At the time, we were desperate to laugh at anything, and the fact that we were laughing at junkies seemed anything but darkly or reflexively prophetic. On one occasion, Kurt talked about how he planned to wear bandages on his arms onstage and decorate himself with plenty of vampire blood in order to make himself look not only like a junkie but a sloppy, fucked-up one. On another occasion, we’d been talking about Charles Manson and Nazis—this wasn’t unusual; we often talked about taboo historical figures and subjects for their shock value as well as because we both felt they were fascinating subjects in their own right—and Kurt asked me if I had a knife or some other sharp instrument so that I could carve a swastika into his forehead, which was something Charles Manson had done. We were touring through Bavaria at the time, and it seemed like a hilarious idea to walk around some German village while Kurt had a swastika carved into his forehead. Again, we were so bored we were desperate for any kind of distraction, and it seemed like a funny idea. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a knife; but we did find a paper clip, which we unbent; and I had a lighter, which we used to heat the tip of the unbent paper clip, using it to carve a shallow swastika into Kurt’s forehead. It wasn’t very distinct, but Kurt was nevertheless delighted with it, and when our tour manager stopped in the next town so we could get something to eat, we took a walk through an outdoor mall or plaza lined with shops and where many people were crowded around. I recall how disappointed Kurt was when no one seemed to notice the swastika … certainly no one complained about it. It was a disappointment for Kurt; but it survives in my memory as an example of his sense of humor while also serving as an instance of his innate need to shock people.
Bored, engaging in jet-black humor just to stay occupied, uncomfortable, fed up … Cobain brought the tour to a dramatic head by breaking down in Italy threatening suicide, ranting that he thought the aud
ience was a bunch of idiots. While Cobain can no longer recount his own feelings, one musician described the influence of his own band’s 1989 tour, giving a sense of the endurance test and reality check early touring provided to young musicians.
SHAMBIE SINGER: The beginning of the end was that last big tour—seven or eight weeks, starting in the Northeast and moving counterclockwise around the entire country … I recall the entire time thinking it was a really tough way to earn a living even if we’d been making more money than the $5-a-day each person got from the tour fund. For me many things made it a tough situation, including the physical discomfort of being on the road—long, tired drives, smoky clubs, typically an uncomfortable sleeping arrangement … The boredom of sitting around every night for five or six hours between sound check and the show. Additionally, I didn’t really relate well to many folks I was meeting in the clubs where we played. Everyone generally seemed nice enough. But I didn’t feel like I had much in common with anyone. I was struck most by this issue in terms of our audience. Routinely at shows people would ask us to sign the Am Rep single … and so I had an opportunity to speak a bit to our “fans.” And at the end of the day the disconnect between who I felt I was while I was pouring my heart and mind and soul into the music, and the people to whom it seemed to speak the most, struck me as odd. And maybe even a bit disconcerting. I was never able to understand why I didn’t feel more kinship with the very people who liked our music the best. And soon started thinking maybe I should put my professional efforts into something different. I realize most of those “fans” were probably not even into us in particular but had more generally embraced the scene we were part of. In either case, though, I felt like I should be doing something that would allow me to have more of a connection to the other people who were part of whatever I would be doing. So after two months of being tired, physically uncomfortable, worn down, generally demoralized by the lack of connection with the people I was meeting, I figured I probably needed to do something else. It was a tough decision for me. Because I loved, and love, music. Maybe more than anything else. But as in many other realms, I’ve since learned, there can be a huge difference between loving something and doing it professionally … But I was very conflicted. I loved being in a band that had had the opportunities we’d already had. And I generally loved being in a band with Mike and Sam. They’re both excellent musicians. And also had become very good friends. But when I looked down the road—even in a best-case scenario involving enough money and hotels—I couldn’t really imagine trying to balance a productive career as a musician with a healthy, happy home/family life. I wasn’t willing to play music at all costs. That last tour was the experience that helped me understand that.
